


Stress Management

by Everlind



Series: Young Folks verse [7]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Humanstuck, Biting, Humanstuck, M/M, Oral Sex, Sloppy Makeouts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:33:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1259830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Everlind/pseuds/Everlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know a blowjob is just a figure of speech, right?” you grit out, petting his hair. “You don’t actually blow air at it.”</p><p>Alternatively; The One Where John Sucks Off His Boyfriend And Doesn't Get Kneed In The Face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stress Management

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was: Will we get to read about YF John's first successful blow job?  
> Result: 4000 words of johnkat porn.  
> Also my thanks to [Pi](http://thepioden.tumblr.com) for the prompt alpha/beta job!

“Karkat.”

Hmmm. Convoluted? No. Maybe involved. Convoluted sounds better in this context, though, so you type c o n v-

“Karkaaaaaaaat-“ 

Hrk. No wait, convoluted sounds like you’re trying too hard, right? Yeah it does. Backspace, backspace, backspace, backspace.

“Karkat Karkat Karkatkarkatkarkatkarkatkar-MRPH!” he goes into your palm as he reels a little, arms flapping. He’s crouching next to your chair, being an absolute pest and you kind of want to throw him out of the goddamn window.

“Shitlick, you are severely testing my patience here. I do not have a lot of it so you better fucking believe me when I say you better keep your blabbing box from blathering more of that incessant inanity before I put my fist in it,” you feel John’s frown. With your hand still spread over his face, you push him backwards steadily. He goes ‘oof’ as he topples on his ass onto the floor, loosing balance. 

And, of fucking course, as soon as he opens his goddamn mouth, more idiocy falls out. “Eheheh, nice alliteration.”

Urgh. Why?

“John, seriously, go the fuck away. Go play tag with a truck on the highway or something.”

“I feel so appreciated,” John says, still on the floor. Where he belongs. Maybe you should just skin the little shit and make a rug out of him. There’s an idea.

“Stop bothering me,” you say, enunciating slowly for the benefit of his feeble, sugar-addled brain. Can’t be healthy to eat that many Gushers, no wonder there’s so much wrong with him. “I’m busy,” you add, because obviously he’s too dumb to get that.

“Dude,” John says, pulling his legs towards him and crossing them. “I’m only here for a week.”

You are perfectly aware of that, of course. Thing is you are working on a column for an online magazine (you are so fucking nervous you could piss yourself) and it is because of _him_ you got this far. Having him here reminds you that he’s actively improving your life and you don’t want to let him down. Fuck, you don’t want to let yourself down, most of all. You want to finish this goddamn column and have it be so fucking awesome they’ll be lining up and begging for more. Hell yes. But you’re rather having a hard time getting it down, to be honest.

“I know,” you respond. “So if you could please just lovingly gift wrap you attitude, slap a bow on it and proceed to choke on it for the next hour or two? I’ll be finished and we can do whatever it is you want.”

John sighs, scratches at his hair. Childish. God, whatever. Where were you? Oh yeah. Involved it is. You re-read the sentence and mentally cry a little. Re-read again. No good, shit, the whole thing has to go. Swipe your mouse to highlight the sentence and delete it.

“So weird, you not capslocking,” John says, having scooted closer. He props his chin on the edge of your desk. The light of your screen bounces into his face, lights his eyes clear blue.

Your concentration unravels again. Okay. Breathe in slowly, try to relax your clenched jaw. Suck in enough air to feel your ribs expand completely, hold it to the count of five. Exhale, eyes slipping shut. Someone grant you the self-control to keep from pummelling this asshole into a pulp and make a damn smoothie out of him. You bet he’d even taste sweet with all that candy in his system, too. Fucking _yum_. Better go look for a straw, one of those fancy curly ones Gamzee gets all tickled pink about. It’ll be a damn party.

“John,” you growl out, glaring at him from the corner of your eyes. “Warning you, because my mental state is slowly but surely inching towards bloody murder and hey, you know what? I bet you’d look lovely stapled to my wall.”

“Just pay attention to me,” he says. “You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself anyway.”

“No,” you snarl. “Do you not comprehend the words I am speaking? Are you so mentally underdeveloped? Do you need me to draw you a fucking picture? YOU” —poke his forehead— “GO” —point at the door— “AWAY!” swipe his head from your desk with your arm. He disappears from view.

For five seconds. 

A head with black hair pops into your range of vision, glasses sliding down his nose. “Karkat,” John widens his eyes and sticks out his bottom lip. “Please.”

You yank the pillow you’d wedged behind the small of your back and pummel him in the face with it. Repeatedly and with enthusiasm until he goes ‘ _BLUH_ ’ and ducks away. And, oh hey _fucking finally_ , stays away. Good. You throw the pillow after him for good measure and turn back to your open document and begin typing. In a short burst you add a whole three sentences with ease, they slip out so perfectly formed you wonder what the shit you were even trying to do earlier, fuck.

There’s a scuffle and you breathe in shakily through your nose, before snapping your head sideways to scowl at him. Nothing. Seems like he took the hint and fucking left. Okay. That’s -yeah. Just what you wanted. Yes. Fuck, what were you doing? Baffled, you sit on your useless ass and peer at the screen in consternation. Goddammit. A shaky sigh whistles past your teeth and you rub at your temple. Okay, get it together. So you just _type_ , hoping to get into the flow after a while, when there’s a rustle of fabric. At your feet. 

What?

That’s all the warning you get before John decides to go straight for the gold in the crotchdiving olympics. Literally just dumps his face into your lap with enough force you can feel his nose nudge your balls through pants. You jump hard enough both your knees bang against the underside of your desk, nearly toppling the mug of coffee on it. Some liquid slops over the rim.

And John, because there are mucus covered gremlins more charming than him, just laughs. Into your crotch.

It’s not sexy, you tell yourself. The heat of those jagged exhales is not sexy. He’s an absolute idiot with the sensual grace of a giraffe on ice wearing roller skates. Except that is a total lie, because, yes he’s snickering into the line between your thighs, but he also shifts his face and you can feel the tip of his nose draw a line of contact as he lifts himself so he can look up at you.

He basically wipes your obstinacy of not wanting to give in to him out of sheer pride aside like a hurricane with just that one gesture. Knows you well enough to see he’s won, too. Asshole.

“What,” you snarl lowly, “do you want.”

John grins, props his chin up on your right thigh. Hands slide up your calves, curl around them. “So I had this totally awesome idea,” he says. “You’ll love it.”

“I doubt it,” you grumble. John has the worst ideas.

Pause. John sits up as best as he can, a lick of hair curling up past the edge of the desk as his lips go sly. Raises an eyebrow. “Okay. So. You _don’t_ want me to suck your dick?”   

And you- yeah okay you totally gape down at him like the imbecile you are because something in your brain went ‘oh’ and promptly short-circuited. Realize your fingers are still on the keys and there’s a half a page of ‘sjjsjssjjsjsjssjsjjjjjsjjjsjsjssssssssjjs’  on your screen. Oops. Guiltily lift your fingers away and swallow thickly.

“Thought so,” John says, smirking like the smug little fucker he is before _oh god again_ burying his face into your crotch. He breathes in deeply, unabashedly smelling you and that should be weird, but, god, fuck, it isn’t, it really isn’t, you like to do that yourself, love that earthy musky scent that you can feel tingle at the sides of your tongue, making your mouth water.

You bite your lip as John nuzzles at you through your pants. Definitely getting hard, now. Can feel the warmth of his mouth clearly, even the shape his lips, through the soft, comfortable fabric of your joggers. A deliberate exhale hazed warm and moist against you. You suck your bottom lip under and slip fingers into his hair. There’s hardly enough space between the desk and the top of his head. Hands travel up your legs, cradle your hips. Play with the hem of your shirt.

In all this time you’ve still not figured out how he can be so _into_ you. Because, hey, really? You look like a massive tool right now. All in your comfy home clothes, old dark joggers and a white shirt that has ‘GRUMPY’ on the front in black capitals. You hate wearing white, it looks fluorescent on you (what with being tan as hell), but it was a gift from Jade. So you wear it at home -also, it has that goddamn dwarf on the back, no way you’d go out wearing that in public. It’s old and stretched all weird; too small and too big in ways that make no sense, and your hair is a curly war zone with no hope for survivors and the dark shadows under your eyes are worse than usual. 

And here you have John on his knees mouthing at your stiff dick like it’s his hobby.  

You huff out a noise despite yourself, lick your mouth. John’s watching you from under his lashes and you trace the shell of his ear with your thumb. That’s not fair. God. Oh, and he— he follows the thick line of your cock curving up against your hip with his nose, playfully kisses the head. 

Holy shit, he’s serious about this.

Long fingers play at the hem of your pants. God, you love those hands. Kind of want them in your mouth, but right now they’re helping you get your dick free fuck yes, also good not complaining at all carry on best idea.

“Lift your butt a little, you butt,” John says, all muffled into the skin below your navel. Licks it. One long stripe that smoothes out the hairs of your treasure trail, slicks them all neatly aligned.

You lift your butt. John draws your pants down your legs, palms warm as they trail in the wake of the fabric. Doesn’t give a fuck about the hair on your legs or your knobby knees or the way your fingers shake against the side of his face as you tuck his hair behind his ear. Doesn’t seem to mind the sight of your cock hard and swollen, drawn flush against your belly with need. Just looks at it, a little hungry, doing that wonderful terrible convulsive lip licking tic he gets when he’s horny as fuck. Leans in a little, hands kneading at your skin. Exhales hard through pursed lips.

“You know a blowjob is just a figure of speech, right?” you grit out, petting his hair. “You don’t actually blow air at it.”

John rolls his eyes, dips his head to pinch flesh between his teeth -catching the vulnerable skin on your stomach. You make a high-pitched little yip that is embarrassing as shit. Also his chin brushes your dick holy shit.

“There's the chihuahua noise again,” he remarks idly and you’d fucking- shit, you don’t even know, can’t even think what you’d do, because every single one of those harebrained words are spoken so close against you you can feel the hot haze of his mouth spelling them out. “Please don’t kick me in the face this time either,”  he adds.

Shit, no fucking way, if you do you will pull your own entrails out through your navel with a big damn smile on your face, you fucking swear. Don’t manage to tell him this, can get out a choked: “John, you don’t-“ you don’t get to finish, either, because John lathes a wet stripe from base to tip, and your mouth falls slack.

“Shush,” he murmurs. “And yeah, I really do. So shut up for five minutes, geez.”

You do. John shifts (he’s put the pillow you threw at him under his knees, smart kid), hovers over your dick a little awkwardly. Your eyes are stuck on the shimmering trail of saliva he left on you, catching the muted late-afternoon light. You’re slipping into this hazy, dreamy state of arousal, part of you utterly shellshocked this is happening. John places a kiss on the shaft. You feel the frames of his glasses bump into your skin. 

You move to lift them away from him, even though you kinda like them on him, fucking him with them on, or the other way around. They’ll just get smudged now. John blinks when you do and then quirks an incongruously cheerful smile at you.

“Thanks!” big happy grin. Jesus on a stick this guy.

“You’re welcome,” you shoot back sarcastically, but it’s hard not to grin, too. 

John touches you, he’s familiar with that. Soft, teasing brush of his knuckles: top-to-bottom, turns his hand, re-traces the path with the tips of his fingers. They’re a little cold, but not unpleasant. You shudder as goosebumps erupt all over your skin. Your dick leaps in response. Shit.

John goes ‘ _hmm_ ’ as though agreeing with your penis. Lowers his head. His lips find the crown of your cock.

“ _Fuck_ ,” you hiss. If you come right now you are never forgiving yourself. Slouch a little little lower in your chair, press the back of your freehand into your mouth, the other returning to his hair. Cups it between his lips -you can feel them shaking oh god- and then his tongue rises between them to press against you. 

_soft warm_

God.

He hums again, almost thoughtfully, but doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t lick so much as trace his tongue against you, feeling you out. It’s good. You moan, deep in your chest. In response, John pushes his hands under your shirt, rucking up the fabric around his wrists. The shirt’s old and fitting enough to stay up when he draws them back down, hands resting on the flat slope of your stomach, tickling around the outline of muscle. You stroke his hair mindlessly.

John makes a soft sound as he laps at the precome, tongue soft and lingering, gets it all and then presses in to suckle openmouthed against you.

This? Yeah, this is going to kill you, fuck.

You groan his name, exhale hard. This shouldn’t get you going so hard, because he’s a little clumsy and just playing around really, unsure what to do, but you can feel tingling hot sensation travel under your skin, a surging beat spiking every time you inhale. Against John’s mouth, you cock throbs in tandem. 

Fingers around you. Oh god. Lifting you up. Oh fuck, oh god. Lips sealing around you fuck fuck fuck warm hot lovely moist so sensitive, yes, more, god John, please —and he does. John sucks. Hard. Too hard. Ow ow ow fuck. Yikes ok. Tug gently at his hair. He doesn’t want to go. Get your second hand down, cradle his face and pull him off your dick. Wet noise as he disconnects. Still hard, your cock aches, you almost come at the sight of his wet lips, you are going to die. Fuck.

“Okay,” you grit out, voice hazy thick and shaking. “John, sucking off is also a figure of speech, got it? You don’t have to actually try to _suck it off_.” Swipe thumbs over his cheekbones to take the sting out of your words, rake his hair out of his face. Look down into his eyes. His pupils are blown wide and he’s breathing hard. God, you want to kiss him.

“Oh,” he just goes. Smacks his lips. And then just nods a little. “Okay.” Thumbs up.

You crack up.

After a moment he does, too, sniggering into the top of your thigh. Decides that while he’s there, he better start on his daily quota of putting a mark on you. Ducks so he can get at the soft inside of your right thigh, where the skin is smooth and nearly hairless -bites down.

Sucking a bruise into the skin there takes three times more work than at the throat. The tendons actually stand out in his neck, his cheeks hollow. Your balls are against the side of his face, his hair sticks against your wet cock and John works lips and teeth at your thigh until he can pull back to reveal a dark bruise.

“Tadaa,” he says right before he opens his mouth at the base of your dick, slides-up openmouthed. Tries again.

That’s when you give up trying to think coherently, can only stare at John’s lips stretching around you and, shit, he gets it right. Doesn’t try to keep his mouth sealed tight, just loose and wonderful and sloppy and you raise both hands to pull at your own hair restlessly as bright, tight pleasure gathers in your groin. 

It’s rocking heat, you thick in his mouth and John’s tongue lapping at the underside, a heady pulse of pleasure whenever he swallows or hums, making you twitch in his mouth. The head of your dick slides against his palate, John has to swallow, a mix of spit and thicker fluid from your arousal -the sound of it is absolutely filthy and wonderful, a noisy slurp.

John’s blushes at it, pink in his cheeks and hair mussed and _he’s into this_. Holy sweet motherfucking hell he is into sucking your dick.

You groan, louder than you have been, deep and unashamed -letting him know how he makes you feel. One hand fits around your hip to keep you pinned down into your chair. He looks up at you. Fuck. He looks fantastic with your dick in his mouth.

“John,” you gasp warningly.

He gives the top of your dick a showy lick. He knows what he’s doing to you. Pleasure goes heavy crawling aching, every minute brush of him against your dick more, like something unseen is trying to fight its way through your skin -to lift out and dissolve and you want, you want- John’s sliding down again, tongue catching against you, taking a bit more when your body rises despite both your efforts.

“John,” your hands fly to his head, cupping around his jaw, empathically trying to get him off before you come in his mouth.

He lets you tug him up, tonguing at the underside as he goes, then resists your grip to sink back down, closing hot and complete around you, as he watches you watch him and that’s what does it. Your muscles lock as the your orgasm rolls through your body, heady but steady in pulsing sweeps that crest with you crying out in long vowel-ridden moans, on and on, until you’re nearly face-down on your keyboard and sobbing because John’s keeps you going as he strokes his mouth and tongue around you.

“John, John, John,” you whine, feeling his cheeks work against the palms of your hands. You can’t anymore, all helpless shudders. But this time he lets you move his head away. Both of you shiver when he comes off you, John with a heavy exhale, you with a wounded little gasp at the sudden rush of cold air on your dick.

Goddamn. Wow.

You hang slumped onto your desk, limp. Everything swims and swirls. Underneath the desk John kisses lazily at your hip, his own exhales loud and airy, bursts of _haaa, haaa, haaa_. Slip fingers into his hair, move them against the grain. “John,” you breathe out, there’s a dark gritty undertone in your voice. Like a half-purr. “Come up here, dumbdumb.”

Scoot the chair back so he has room, help him up with firm hands so he doesn’t wobble and break his neck. Sit him on your legs and look into his face. There’s a smear of— HOLY.

He swallowed.

Well, tried to. Mostly. And that’s your come on his lower lip. You lift a hand to wipe it away, flabbergasted. “Did—, let me—“

“I did,” he says, grinning sheepishly.

There’s a dark patch at his crotch. He came sucking you off. You make a broken little noise and no, dammit, stupid dick, _down_. No way you can take a second orgasm so soon, you’ll break your brain or your balls or both. Definitely both.

“So,” John says. He looks smug like hell, even sort of does this playful left-right-left wriggle with his shoulders. Where does he get the energy? “Your dick’s still there, dude. Didn’t suck it _off_ , or anything. Did I do good?”

You shake your head at him, caressing his sides slowly. “You know you did, assmuch.”

“Want to hear you say it.”

Instead you tug him towards you for a kiss and John hesitates long enough until you lick into his mouth, showing him you don’t mind the taste of yourself on him at all. He smiles and winds his arms heavy around your neck, pressing close for playful touches of his lips on yours, catching and snagging, because his are damp and a little sticky stained —all you— and you just have to kiss him until it’s just him again. Soft and wordlessly grateful with the pads of your fingers at the line of his jaw, slack and loving and close, dipping for a burst of contact and drawing away only to go back again.

You got so damn lucky.

Because you watch the play of expressions on his face from under half-lidded eyes as he shift closer to you, pressing his chest into you and hanging on. And there’s longing and baffling need on his face still, but it has nothing to do with sex now, just you.

You kiss him with heavy, deep and open-mouthed kisses, marvelling at the afterglow dancing at the edges of him, his spine arching towards you. Kiss him soft and whisper-light after, lips deliriously sensitive after all the contact, letting the natural shape and grooves catch and cling. Finish with a peck, quick and light, like a wink.

“You’re a natural born cocksucker,” you say and John howls with indignation, shoving at your shoulders hard. You topple both sideways out of the chair with a crash loud enough to bring Sollux worriedly rapping at your door to ask whether you’ve killed yourselves.

*

‘Pay attention to me’ seems to interchangeable with ‘let me suck your dick’ in that crazy head of his, because he’s pretty well behaved after. In a show of complaisance you carry your laptop to the bed and sit next to him against the headboard. You don’t want to admit it, but you’re extremely mellow, calm in a way you rarely ever get. The words flow out effortlessly. You’re going to have to make him blow you the next time, too. 

John’s ramming energetically at a Nintendo, making faces. Lips parting and smacking and lips going sideways. After ten more minutes of making faces, you turn to him.  

“Did you damage something in your head going down on me or what?”

Surprised, John looks away from the display, blinks at you. A mocking jingle from the device. “Aw damn,” he goes, frowning. Then shrugs one shoulder. “My mouth’s all squeaky.”

“You— what?”

“Yeah. All weird feeling. You have squeaky jizz, dude.”

You stare at him. Once again, a collection of ‘ggghhhhhhhghgghhghghhhhhhhhgggggggg’ scrolls across your screen unimpeded.

“Tastes better than mine, though. I know because I tried,” he elaborates, nodding thoughtfully. Pokes out his tongue as he re-starts his game. “Probably because you eat a lot of vegetables.”

You. Yeah, okay. Nothing. Your brain probably catapulted out of the back of your skull and fucked the hell off like a bat out of hell.

“I read that on the internet,” he adds.

You facepalm, slumps sideways, groaning in abject despair. Your boyfriend is— shit, you don’t even know anymore. John Egbert is a concept in and unto himself, god. How do you deal with this?

“You okay?” John pipes up, utterly oblivious. 

The only thing you manage is a wrecked little noise in response.

“Need me to suck you off again?”

This is going to be a thing, isn’t it. God help you, this going to be a thing.

 

Bring it on.


End file.
